


En'leass*

by Fen_Assan



Series: Together, Even When Apart [1]
Category: The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt - Fandom, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Romance, Smut, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-05-31 21:53:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6488848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fen_Assan/pseuds/Fen_Assan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Geralt comes to Skellige looking for Ciri, but he will find Yennefer first, in more senses than one.<br/>An AU in which Geralt and Yennefer steal away together after they meet, allowing themselves simply to enjoy, even if for a little while. </p><p>A bit of slightly adjusted in-game dialogue present. </p><p>* En'leass - laced, tied (Elder Speech)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WaywardLass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaywardLass/gifts).



> When Geralt arrives on Ard Skellig and speaks to Yennefer during the king's funeral, there is an option in the dialogue where he says he wants to run away with her. Unfortunately, choosing that option does not change the events in the game, so I thought, what if it did? :)  
> I appreciate all and any feedback, so please let me know what you think. I hope you enjoy. :)

It was her. Standing among the crowd on the shore, not in her usual black-and-white clothes, but simply in black - enticing, dizzying, maddening simplicity which was everything but simple - he could not look away from her profile. The wind blew her hair to one side - towards him - as if her raven locks reached out for him: impatient, longing, hurting and almost without hope, but reaching out nonetheless. He knew he made it all up, he knew he was just describing himself. He strode closer.

He did not hear the Hierophant's eulogy, or if he did, he let the meaning of the druid's words slip right over him without leaving a mark, unlike the drops of seawater that soaked Yennefer's clothes and left wet streaks on her pale cheeks. She had not used a spell to repel them, he realised, she had not forgot to - she never forgot anything - she had decided not to. It could be because she was genuinely saddened by the death of king Bran. Or it could be because she was willing to let Geralt see her like that: not vulnerable, not exactly, but more a woman than a sorceress. He would have liked it to be the latter. 

"You look beautiful," his voice sounded strained coming through his lips stretched in a smile so misplaced in the crowd of people who had gathered to pay their last respects to their king. She did not reproach him, but smiled back, her gaze softening almost imperceptibly as she allowed the tiny little wrinkles to gather around her eyes.

"Thank you. Nice to see you again," she spoke barely audibly as he kept staring at her, enchanted, enraptured. "We're at a funeral, Geralt," the way she said his name - it was not something he missed, that was the intonation she used too rarely to miss it. He was delighted. Bugger Witchers' reputed insensitivity.

"You smell wonderful," he continued, fighting to keep his eyes open when they wanted to squeeze shut and let him drown in the unbearable closeness of her scent - lilac and gooseberry. He was still grinning dreamily when she faced him: the wind, blowing at the back of her head, threw a handful of black tresses over her face, one catching on the glossy balm on her lips. He was no longer breathing. He did not know for how long. She smiled, and he knew she meant it. Her words, that scattered out as she pulled the offending - lucky - strand of hair away from her mouth, had nothing to do with what her violet eyes were saying, eyes more brilliant than ever not due to the nightshade drops and the glamour, he believed, but to the gusts of wind coming in from the sea.

"Will you come to the wake with me?" He nodded. He would do whatever she asked of him. He might be terrified when he considered what he had agreed to later, but now - now she could have anything, could have it all.

The crowd had hushed. Only the rush of waves and the cries of seagulls, which despite the atmosphere did not sound mournful or ominous, but simply as they were every day, any day, broke the silence. It was an effort to look away from her and see the reason: an archer, a solitary flame held in front of his taut bow, a single burning arrow swooshing into a beautiful arc, the thump of it finding purchase in the deck of the longship, next to the body of the deceased king and atop him - his young wife, alive, stricken by grief, soon to join him in ever-lasting feasts, and hunts, and raids. Geralt heard and saw all that, and yet. It was her. She was here. It was too much for him to deny his heart now. He would grieve later. A horn sounded, and the crowd lowered their heads as one.

Jarl Crach an Craite spoke, inviting everyone to share the mead and meat at the wake. Geralt leant towards Yennefer.

"Haven't seen each other for two years. I want to run away with you. I want to find a solitary cottage by the sea, lock myself in it with you for a week." She lowered her head, her smile, sweet and almost shy, hiding behind the black curls framing her cheeks.

"And what would we do there for a week?" There was no challenge in her voice, it felt more like a hope, an invitation even. He swallowed hard.

"I can think of a few things," he rasped hoarsely. She smiled more, but did not look into his eyes.

"That thing with the rope you use to tie trophies seems interesting."

"You reading my mind again?" He was not mad. This habit of hers to intrude on his thoughts without asking for permission had driven him insane before, and most probably would again, but now - now he wanted her to see, to know what he thought, how he felt, what he desired so greatly, and what he could not express well enough.

"Mhm, and I like what I see," she whispered as she faced him; but that whisper carried over the roar of the waves crashing against the rocky shore, and over the booming voice of the Jarl, it carried her words straight to him - so openly, but only meant for his ears. He did not make an effort to slow his pulse, let his heart flutter in his chest. He turned to look in the same direction she was, up at Crach an Craite standing on the platform, still addressing the crowd.

The Jarl made eye-contact with the Witcher, and Geralt nodded his greeting and his respect, just like he had done some time before with the Hierophant. He knew Crach would want to speak to him, and he needed the Jarl for quite a few questions himself, but he had just made a decision. It would all wait. He only needed to convince her.

Yennefer uncrossed her arms to tuck a rebellious lock of hair behind her ear. The moment her arm lowered, Geralt grazed her fingers with his, rough, calloused, gentle. The Witcher and the Sorceress kept looking straight ahead, without blinking, when their hands clasped and she allowed their fingers to interlace, so easily, naturally, firmly.

 _Come away with me,_ he thought desperately, _please, I can't stand this. Let's leave together._ What were the chances she would be reading his mind now? What were the chances she would say yes if he actually asked her? He shut his eyes, letting out a slow controlled breath. He felt a squeeze of his hand. His eyelids flew open, his pupils thinning into vertical slits, before dilating the very next moment: Yennefer was looking at him, mouthing a soundless "Now?", a corner of her sensual mouth twitching with a smile. He nodded, smiling back. 

She did not release his hand when she headed out slowly, carefully picking her way between the bereft people, who all stood so close to one another. Some stepped aside, others were too grief-stricken to realize they were in the way, so the couple were forced to part hands. Not for long though. Yennefer's petite hand found its way into Geralt's broad palm, and pulled. Their walk became brisk, until they were almost running along the meandering narrow path up the hill. They halted at the top. The Witcher took her other hand in his, mesmerized by the glistening pools of her deep violet eyes and the fresh flush on her pale cheeks, the invitation of her parted lips gasping for air - the exertion of the climb had been nowhere near enough to leave her panting. His hand snaked behind her neck, his fingers raking her scalp gently as he lowered his head towards her, froze for an instant with his eyes closed as the scent of lilac and gooseberry wafting off her hair hit his nostrils, and finally, his lips were on hers. The first contact was cushiony soft, but it was only the start of the worlds colliding as he deepened the kiss, hungry, demanding, giving all of himself. He sensed her wave a hand around them, once, twice, and pulled back, heaving a breath from the bottom of his chest, lifting his eyebrows enquiringly. 

"I wrapped us up in an illusion. We ought to be respectful after all." He looked down at the crowd by the water edge, which had just started dissipating, some people looking up as they strolled away. He could not know what they saw when they looked in their direction, he did not care. He grinned, his gaze back on Yennefer.

"You're right. This outfit would not be fit for a funeral." The second wave of her hand must have served for changing from her previous decently formal clothes. She looked beautiful in everything, she looked ravishing in nothing, but in this new garb she was absolutely stunning: her trousers had been replaced by a skirt with two front slits showing off her shapely legs hugged by laced stockings; a thin shirt left her shoulders bare; and a silk scarf hid her neckline, leaving some mystery, some room for imagination. Now, however, he did not wish to use his imagination, he had done it too many times before. Now she was there. He drew Yennefer closer until her lithe body was flush against his, nuzzled behind her left ear, dragged the tip of his tongue along her neck, and swallowed her moans with a kiss.

"This is not far enough," he rasped, without moving away from her face, tracing her high cheekbones and her jawline with the tips of his fingers. They were one, even now: they took in each other's hot breaths, the wind threw their hair in their faces - the stark contrast of black and white, Yennefer's favourite colours. She swallowed hard, nodded, and lifted her eyes at him - eyes that held shards of ice and bolts of lightening in their depths, were so warm now - specs of silver and gold decorated her irises, reflecting the flame of desire within her.

"I can take us away now." He tilted her chin up with his fingers and rubbed his thumb along her lower lip, ever so gently, almost reverently.

"Yen, I..." Her expression changed instantaneously, morphing into something that should not have been there - uncertainty and hurt.

"Hate portals?" She prompted, corners of her mouth downturned as she moved her face aside. Was it possible she really thought she was about to be rejected? Didn't she know he could never say no to her? Even if he did loathe portals? He smiled into her eyes and cupped her face. She leaned into his hand, pressing it tighter with her own.

"...missed you," he finished his sentence, whispering it against her lips, before he felt her claim his mouth eagerly, before both his medallion and his senses alerted him to the portal that had opened right next to them. They stepped in and through it without breaking the kiss: she knew how to distract him from the unpleasant experience. He was uncertain as to how long they had travelled, but it felt as if they were at some point suspended in the air, clutching only to each other: mouths, fierce, hungry, teeth grazing, tugging at lips; hands, impatient, roaming, grasping; bodies, hot, flushed, ready.

They stumbled as the portal spurted them out on the shore. Yennefer was on one knee, standing up, when Geralt gained his balance, and quickly cancelled her effort by grabbing her and throwing her over himself, and rolled them on the soft grass covering the stony shore - a low tide. They stopped with Geralt on his back, Yennefer sitting astride him, spitting a strand of hair that had got into her mouth.

"Ugh, I knew you would do that," her derisive huff was back, and it made him smile - it was her. He lunged up and wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, lowering her closer until she lay atop of him, her nimble fingers in his hair, her thighs nearly pressing against the bulge of his cock. He moaned. They were so close. He was still trying to kiss her, not letting go, when she pushed him back on the ground with her palms splayed over his chest. His swords securely buried in their scabbards dug into his back, but the feeling of her small weight on him was wonderful. She smirked cheekily at him and nodded to the side, indicating something he had to look at. He followed the direction of her gaze and laughed heartily, unexpectedly, as if someone had just uncorked a bottle full of his suppressed laughter. It was the effect she had on him - whatever they said about the Witchers' lack of emotion, she had always managed to beguile him, infuriate him, delight him. She lifted one perfectly drawn eyebrow and struck him lightly on the shoulder with her fist.

"What? It is a a solitary cottage by the sea, is it not?" She finally joined in his laughter as he hugged her to himself, her head tucked under his chin, her cheek against his chest, both sighing deeply, looking at the once-large and impressive wooden house overlooking the beach, which was now brought to a near-destitute state. Large parts of its thatched roof were missing, and they could see that plants had taken over the inside of the house as it was lacking a door. The Witcher helped Yennefer stand and kissed her.

"Thank you, Yen. It's lovely." He took her by the hand and pulled her towards the entrance, as she huffed, cursed, and giggled, slipping on the wet stones in her high-heeled boots. 

One would expect to find grass and mosses in an abandoned seaside house without a door, but besides that, there was also a sapling growing in the middle of the cottage, right underneath a gaping hole in the roof. Ludicrously, outside the house was surrounded by barrels, sacks, and bundles which were full - of dried fish, bottles of spirit, apples. There were intact fishing nets and crab traps, and even some still wearable clothes on the line, dancing to the tune of the wind rushing in from the open sea.

"It almost looks as if someone's still using this cottage," Geralt closed the lid on one barrel, having kept one red apple in his palm, rubbed it shiny against his sleeve and proffered it to Yennefer, bowing low. She rolled her eyes mockingly, but smiled and took a bite, holding the fruit up nonchalantly in one hand, the other securing her elbow. "If you don't look inside," Geralt added.

"Wait a minute," he squinted. He knew this expression of Yennefer's: this particular cocky smirk meant she not only enjoyed knowing more about something than he did, but in fact also wanted him to crack the riddle. His medallion hummed as he stepped inside the house.

"Huh!" He waved a hand in front of himself, sending visible ripples in the air around the spot he had touched. "I don't have the artifact on me," he patted his side, but only felt a small pack holding the essentials, "to dispel the illusion. But I suspect you know more about it." He faced Yennefer, who came closer, took another bite of the apple, and studied him.

"Keira's artifact." He lowered his head and looked at her from under his furrowed eyebrows.

"There was nothing between Keira Metz and me. Not for her lack of trying." The sorceress shook her head.

"I know. She actually complained about it," she added, smiling at him almost apologetically. She bit the apple, and, even though there was plenty more to eat, tossed the core up and out through the roof. She lifted her fingers and mumbled a spell. "And of course I can dispel it, I was the one who put it in place." The dissipating illusion revealed that one side of the house was in fact complete with a bed - a thick mattress to be exact, covered in a multitude of pillows, cushions, pelts and tartan plaids. The roof above it was whole, patched with lighter, fresh-looking straw, though grass remained on the stone-and-earthen floor. In the corner stood a small cabinet, housing a vanity, a few vials and pots of make-up, and a tall crystal pitcher of water. 

"You made quite a comfortable nest here," Geralt smiled, as he sat on the edge of the mattress and realized that once in it, the bed's occupants had a small window right at their eye level, opening up to the view of the untamed waves crashing into the beach. There must have been something she noticed in his expression, for Yennefer sat by his side, sidling up to him, still pushing when their hips were flush against each other, as if urging him to move aside, but holding him close instead. She rested her palm on his cheek and turned his face towards hers.

"I've been on Skellige for quite a while now, and it's been tough. I even came to a point when I wanted to sacrifice my comfort for some solitude. I spent a day and a night here. Alone." He removed her hand from his cheek, kissed her fingers. 

"I would not judge," he said. It was true, he would not - he might briefly contemplate the possibility of her spending a night with another man there, followed by numerous ways in which he could rid that man of his life, but he would not judge. He himself had not remained celibate for the two years they had been apart.

"I know," she smiled, openly, genuinely, like many would not believe she was capable of smiling. "It was my sanctuary, now it will be ours," she whispered and kissed him, gently first, but becoming more insistent, eventually climbing up to sit in his lap, hugging his hips with her thighs draped in black lace. He groaned. She knew his sensitive spots as well as he knew hers. Her teeth grazed just above his collarbone, as her nimble fingers unclasped the harness holding the sheaths of his two swords. They fell on the mattress and then clanked dropping to the floor. Yennefer sat up, pushing Geralt down on the bed.

"I just need to take care of a small thing," she purred, running her manicured finger across his chest, "I don't plan this to be over soon, and I don't want to freeze in the middle of it." She stood up into a stable stance, extended her hands, and started chanting in Elder Speech, conjuring. Geralt knew creation magic was difficult and physically exhausting, but he did not feel like opposing the idea of a door they could shut, or more straw covering their roof. "Their"...

Yennefer sighed heavily as she ushered another patch of straw, water reeds and heather into thatching together, closing a large gap above. She positioned herself to aim at the next one, but Geralt stopped her, approaching from behind, lowering her hands with his, and crossing them to squeeze her into an embrace.

"Leave it. We can see the stars through it later," he nuzzled at her neck. "Besides, I have other plans as to why you should collapse from exhaustion," he rumbled, feeling her writhe beneath his hands. The vibration of her soft laughter as he kissed her throat sent another wave of desire flushing over him, his already stiff cock throbbing.

"Ever a romantic," she quipped, lifting an arm to wrap around his neck, arching her back, exposing the low-cut neckline, her scarf having slipped to one side. His hands glided along her taught body, from her hips up, towards her heaving breasts, ghosting over them, finally grazing, cupping, squeezing. She moaned loudly and swirled around, pushing him towards the bed. He concurred, backing up and sitting down, unfastening the multiple buckles on his armour.

She remained where she stood - her pose a definition of seduction - eyeing him for a while, before lowering her hands and starting to draw them up, making her clothes magically disappear in shimmery translucent wisps.

"Yen, don't." He got to his feet and closed the distance between them. Her face was contorted in obvious pain of rejection. His heart sank. "You misunderstood," he started quickly, "I want you, Yen, more than anyone, more than ever. I just...don't want any more magic. Let _me_ do it. Let me treasure every moment I'll take dragging each little piece of fabric off your body." He accentuated his words with his fingers tracing her bare skin. "Will you allow it?" They were pressed against each other, his fingers holding her chin up towards him, her eyes shut. A single tear escaped as she opened them, restored the entirety of her clothes with a single gesture, and breathed out,

"Yes."


	2. NSFW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The summary of this chapter: sex, and not much else. :)) This is my first Geralt smut, and also my first smut from a male POV, so I hope I didn't make a mess of it. :)  
> Thank you for reading! Enjoy, and let me know what you think! ;)

A Witcher's job - and life - was not easy, or simple, or pleasurable most of the time. But there were times when it felt right, when it felt worthy; and there were moments when one Witcher perk or another came in handy outside of work. Like now. Being a Witcher now was a blessing, as it allowed Geralt to hold his breath for a long, long time. Yennefer being a sorceress was even better, for she could adjust her breathing too, so they did not have to break their kiss. And they did not.

They let it linger, let their lips become acquainted anew with what they were already so intimately familiar - each other. The sweet exploration of her mouth was both a claim and a giving. For a while, Geralt let Yennefer take over, and she swirled her tongue around his, chasing and evading, flicking the tip over his lips before retreating. Next, it was his turn to tease, only slightly brushing her pliant lips with his; feeling her whole body arch and lean into him, as she panted and writhed, demanding more.

Geralt kept his mouth busy on hers, but his hands left the inviting curves of her body - only for a moment it took to pull off his gauntlets. As soon as they fell softly to the ground, Yennefer welcomed his hands back on her body with a moan. His palms pressed at her lower back, his leg moved between hers, and she gave in to the pressure, the closeness, with hunger and readiness. Her moans were driving him crazy, and right now he wanted to just tear the restraints of her undergarments aside and fill her, but he waited. He had told her he wanted to enjoy every moment slowly, and he would. He bit on her already swollen upper lip - he knew it was more sensitive than the lower one - and she gasped, rubbing her core against his leg. He chuckled into her mouth and stepped back a pace to unbuckle her belts - first the one around her waist, then the one hugging her hips, which she wiggled suggestively as he took a deliberately long time undoing the belt.

He was much taller, but she did not complain, even though her neck must have been aching by now. She threw her head back, exposing it, imploring him to go on. Yennefer's was a tough love, and she always welcomed rough pleasure. He could not be simply rough with her though, not now. There would be time for taking her quickly and mercilessly later. Or so he hoped. Giving in to her demands, his teeth grazed at the most vulnerable spot in the middle of her neck, but he soothed the sting, feathering quick light kisses all the way from down the hollow between her collarbones, up to her chin. She was mewling in his arms now, and he sank his teeth into her chin, making her let out a startled cry of pain and pleasure combined. 

The sound sent a wave of desire crashing over Geralt. He lifted Yennefer, and she quickly pulled her skirt up to wrap her legs around his torso. As he carried her, she seized his mouth in a wild, ravenous kiss. Her back hit the wall, but she only moaned quietly - it was mossy and soft. Geralt had her pinned against the wall with just his body, his hands free to roam: glide under the skirt, over her inner thigh, so near but not touching her core; over her shoulder, pulling the shirt even lower down her arm and half exposing her exquisite breast. His fingers worked on unlacing her corset. It was easy for she wore it purely for decoration, her slim waist not needing any support. At the same time, his teeth were pulling the string holding her shirt together, his hot breath and occasional graze of teeth scattering goosebumps on her pale bare skin.

Yennefer placed her palms firmly on his chest and snaked them under his already undone brigandine. It was impossible to know if she timed it, but her hands went up and slid over his shoulders in a fluid movement, and Geralt only needed to let go of her corset, having unbound the lacing, to lower his arms and allow their discarded clothes to hit the floor in quick succession. Yen's skirt thankfully only had three buttons, two of which scattered to some far corners of the house as the garment joined the growing pile on the ground.

Geralt growled as he felt the sorceress' sharp nails clawing at his short-sleeved shirt. Her fingers raked over his chest down to his stomach, then felt their way up his arms to his shoulders, pausing at his biceps, which he flexed at the contact almost involuntarily.

"Hmm, this shirt is so unfit for this weather, but I admit I quite like it," Yennefer's laughter reverberated against his lips pressed to her throat. He smirked back, fixing her with a feline stare of his yellow eyes.

"It's a good thing you aren't dressed for the local weather either," his voice came out raspy as he grabbed the hem of her silky blouse and pulled, forcing her arms up and holding them there. Her breasts were invitingly bare under the shirt, leaving her scarf the largest item of clothes on her. He took his time untying it, having moved slightly away from the woman's hot, flushed, squirming body as she sought to regain full body contact.

He let go of her arms, but she kept them above her head as the fabric fell, bent one knee to prop the wall with her leg, and arched her back. The position granted one of Geralt's favourite views, and he made sure he took it all in. Her gentle long neck was tightly hugged by a black velvet choker that held an obsidian star encrusted with tiny diamonds; her delicate rounded breasts with exceptionally pale nipples heaved with her each breath; and the contrast of her slender waist and her shapely hips was tantalising. He felt scorching desire and flooding tenderness all at once. It was confusing and extraordinary. He stepped back, pulled his shirt over his head without losing eye contact, and just stood their watching.

Her breath hitched at the sight of his exposed torso. She closed the distance between them. Her fingers glided along the bite marks between his neck and his left shoulder, hovered over a badly healed scar under his collarbone, and lingered, pressing with extreme gentleness, on the three ugly marks across his front that were once holes made by a human peasant's pitchfork. Her eyes sparkled with what looked to Geralt like love and pain and wrath combined, as if she was seeing a dear old friend, who was also her enemy. It was the scar from a wound that had killed him. Or nearly killed him. The tips of her fingers moved upwards, hovering over another mark on his skin.

"A new one," she whispered - not a question, but a statement - as if she kept all of his scars in her memory. And maybe she did.

"Mhm," he found himself unable to say anything more. She got acquainted with this new groove in his skin, by peppering kisses along the length of the scar and its ragged edges. The flick of her tongue made his skin tingle, and the weight of how long their separation had been crushed over him, rendering his patience impossible, perverse, wrong.

He swept her into his arms and carried her to the simple mattress that was to be their bed. And it was to be the most opulent one that he had slept in for endless months, for the mere reason that she, Yennefer, his Yennefer, was going to be in it with him. He laid her down, pulled her boots off, and remained hovering over her for a while, admiring. He loved it all: her beautiful body kept slender not only by magic but exercise, her radiant skin of a young girl, and her skill gained through experience of a woman. She knew who she was and what she wanted. And now he could see that she wanted him.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, and her leg around his hip, pulling him closer. He gave in and for a moment allowed his weight to rest on her petite frame. He knew he was heavy, and he knew she enjoyed it - she moaned into his mouth as she kissed him hungrily, fingers raking across his back, hips bucking in search of even more contact. He rolled them over, leaving Yennefer seated astride him. She smirked wickedly, dragging her nails over his chest - a touch roughly. He palmed and kneaded her rounded ass as she leaned to kiss and lick and graze his skin. Her moans and his groans seemed to spur them both.

"Ugh, how do you even get into such tight trousers, Geralt?!" she growled in frustration, trying to pull his pants down his legs.

"And _you_ are the one asking this question?" he smirked. She scoffed in response.

"Well _I_ use magic."

"And _I_ ," he enunciated, "use my hands. And also wriggle my ass." Her smirk turned into a burst of laughter.

"You'll have to show me how you do that," she purred, raising a single brow and crawling over him.

"Oh I will," he promised, capturing her mouth with his, pulling her down, so her breasts pressed against his chest, and he embraced her even tighter. She wriggled free, only to sit up again, this time on his stomach.

"Now, however," she swirled a hand and snapped her fingers behind her, "it's time to be rid of this blasted thing."

"What happened to not using magic while undressing?" Geralt enquired, unable to suppress a grin spreading over his face, as his leather trousers disappeared into thin air together with his boots. Yennefer raised an eyebrow.

"There was to be no magic in disrobing _me_. So this," another snap of fingers got rid of his underpants, "is technically not even cheating. You though, still have work to do," she ran her hands along her legs, which looked so inviting in those black stockings - what sort of magic held them tightly over her thighs he did not care; and then...He hissed, and he felt his full erection bounce off his stomach as Yennefer slid her hand down the tiny, delicate triangle of lace between her legs, only held together by thin strings. He growled with want and anticipation, but instead of lashing to rip the undergarment off her, he bent her down with a palm on her back, and caught her nipple between his lips.

She felt...divine? He did not use such words, but he thought that must have been what divine felt like. He rolled her gentle peak in his mouth, twisting his tongue around it, making it pebble hard. When he sucked on it, she moved back a little, filling his ears with needy moans at the sensation of painful bliss the pull gave her. His fingers worked stroking and pinching the other nipple, before taking it ravenously in his mouth.

Her core felt so hot on his stomach he could not deny himself, or her, that final missing contact any longer. He rolled Yennefer over on her back, and she immediately opened her legs for him. He smiled and caressed her face first. Knowing it was a risk, he rubbed a finger over her lips, but instead of a bite she took it in her mouth, and then another one, and sucked. It felt electrifying. He raked the fingers of his other hand across her chest and stomach and stopped at the black triangle of sheer fabric. He placed the tip of a single finger over her entrance, using enormous amounts of self control not to press or rub, but just keep it there for an instant. Now, Yennefer cared little for control though: she bucked her hips, grabbed his hand, and his finger sank into her through the soaked through fabric.

That was as much as he could endure. He ripped the undergarment off, rending it useless with a single tear. Incredibly, even now, with her cunt dripping for him and her eyes veiled with desire, she could not refrain from a snide comment.

"Do you know how much these cost?" And she jumped up, threw him on his back, straddled him kneeling on the mattress. Her fingers closed around his throbbing length as she guided him towards her entrance. She took him in deep, throwing her head back.

"Worth every coin," he rasped, grabbing her pert ass and urging her to move. Despite her petite form, her body was strong and lithe, and so eager, she needed not be asked twice. Yennefer looked him straight in the eye when she moved up, so slowly it was maddening, teasing on the very tip of his cock, as if about to abandon it, and then letting in slide in again, all the way.

Her rhythm became fast-paced and intense, and Geralt loved it. His Witcher senses were alert, lending him the power to enjoy every single sensation brought by their reunion even more. He closed his eyes and gave in to it all. All his muscles were taut, relishing every thrust. His skin burnt and tingled at the touch of her fingernails over his chest and stonmach. Her sweet and tart perfume combined with the scent of sweat and sex filled his nostrils. His hearing allowed him to synchronise his heartbeat with the pounding of hers. It even let him hear the rush of blood in his veins, and in hers.

He felt the change of angle as she leaned in towards him. His eyes flew open, and the first thing he saw was the shimmer and glint that the diamonds on Yennefer's star scattered over her skin. Their lips met, ruggedly, still so thirsty for each other, but the kiss alone was not enough: she never stopped grinding back and forth along his length. He grabbed her and pulled her off him, his shaft hitting his stomach with an obscenely wet plop. He sat on his heels, kneeling. 

"Stand up, Yen," the words sounded rough in his gravelly voice. She looked at him, biting her lower lip in anticipation. "On the mattress," he added. She smiled, still biting on her lip, and obeyed. He nuzzled at the carefully trimmed triangle of wet black curls between her legs and grinned, the happiest he had been in a long time. His hands palmed her firm ass, and a slow drag of his tongue over her parting folds and her sensitive clit made her exhale sharply. Her taste was maddening, sweet and bitter all at once. He squeezed his cock with one hand as he lapped at her core. She was dripping wet, for him, because of him, his.

She tumbled down at the unexpected pull on her legs, gasping, laughing, catching a breath between his kisses. She readily assumed the position he guided her into, standing on all fours and spreading her legs. He knelt behind her, stroking his length as he admired the perfect view in front of him. She wiggled her bottom at him, impatient, and he filled her in one swift, sharp motion, letting out a groan of pleasure. He stood still, his hands holding on to her hips, but she would not have the stillness. She started pumping, slowly first, but then quicker, and Geralt simply let her do it. He lifted his arms, ran his fingers through his hair before locking them behind his head. He grinned at her taking control even while she was in such a submissive pose. She was thrilling.

As Yennefer began to tire, she relinquished control with an exclamation of "Geralt!"; sounding both needy and demanding. He could never say no to her, could he? He leaned over her, ran his calloused fingers across the smooth skin of her back, dipped under to cup her breast, and straightened back up to start thrusting into her with abandon. Her moans soon became screams, and she lowered her upper body, leaving only her pert behind up in the air. The lower she went, the tighter her cunt became. He felt her inner walls contracting around his shaft, and pressed his hand between her shoulder blades, as he gained an impossible rhythm for a few thrusts. His fingers ghosted over her clit to bring her to climax just as his own release overwhelmed him.

Minutes later, she was lying curled up next to him as he stroked her shoulder and curled her hair around his finger, gently, absentmindedly, happily. They did not speak much. There was too much to say, to ask of each other, and they would, but not yet. Now they only shared the sweet comfort of sore satisfaction, closeness and familiarity. They did not bother putting any clothes back on, there were enough plaids to cover themselves with, and the other's body was the heat source they both preferred anyway. 

"Can you give me a glass of water?" Yennefer's voice was muffled as she uttered her request with her face pressed into his side. The cabinet was on his side of the mattress, _probably not accidentally_ , he smirked, so he sat up to pour from the pitcher. He was thirsty too but he only poured one glass. He would use the same one after she was finished, even though he knew it always drove her mad when he tried to share a glass or a plate. His medallion lay next to the glass, discarded together with his clothes. They had learnt a long time ago that it was not a good idea to leave it on during sex. And they had learnt the hard way, too, when both Yennefer and Geralt sported a bruise and a bloody scratch from the wolf's head as the swing of the chain hit her on the cheek and him on the forehead. He took it and put the chain over his head. 

"Do you really need it now?" Yennefer sounded amused.

"Don't know," he shrugged, smiling, "just a habit I guess." He quieted for a moment as he felt the tug of the chain on his neck and a slight vibration of the medallion. "Or maybe I do need it now."

"You sure it's not me?" Yennefer leaned on her elbow, propping her head with her hand, showing off the swell of her breasts only slightly covered by her hair. His medallion reacted to magic as well as monsters, but Geralt doubted this was due to a magic interference. 

"Are you casting?" He asked, pulling on his boots, standing up from the bed, and reaching for his silver sword on the floor. She waited before answering, apparently toying with some idea, but finally shook her head. He knew as much already: he had learnt to be acutely aware of her magic, even when she was only preparing a spell. He unsheathed the sword and propped the scabbard carefully against the small cabinet.

"Are you going like this?" He knew from her tone that she had one eyebrow curved up quizzically. The left one. He turned around to see his theory confirmed, and produced a satisfied smirk.

"Is anything missing?" He stood with his legs wide, flexing his muscles as he lowered the tip of his word to the ground in front of him and clasped his hands on the pommel, only covering his nudity as much as the sword was wide. Yennefer smirked back and shook her head.

"Are you hoping to fight off the monsters or impress them?"

"Why not both?" he grinned boyishly. It was ridiculous to do so, he knew, but felt like doing something ridiculous. So he creaked the door open, habitually crouched into a fight stance, and headed towards the water edge, swiftly adjusting his pupils to the darkness.

There were drowners, not too many. _Just enough to warm up_ , he thought, as he felt the chill of the night air crawl over his skin, soon joined by the sea spray. It probably was stupid to come out naked after all. But, looking on the bright side, it was a good incentive not to get caught by a drowner claw. He swiped his sword in a wide upwards arc, turned on his heel and slashed down, the blade meeting the slimy flesh, cleaving its way through three drowners in only two motions. More were coming from the opposite side of the bay, and he heard the hut door open as he rushed towards them. Yennefer was probably watching. He ducked, evading the taloned hand, kicked the creature behind its knees, and finished by piercing it with the sharp edge of his sword. He pirouetted just to time to catch another one before it scratched him. The circular motion gave him the momentum to take the drowner's head clean off, and that was it. All done. He was breathing more heavily now, but he was warm. He bent down to pick a handful of sand and rub it across his blade to clean off the blood and gore, and finally looked up at the hut.

Yennefer was standing in the doorframe, arms crossed, wearing only her knee-high boots and a wicked smile. He returned it.

"You see, this fashion trend is picking up already." She simply laughed this time, throwing her hair back and biting her lip.

"Colour me impressed. Get in here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, the sex just ended up being too long to add some fluff and just simple daily interactions between these two that I wanted. So there will be one more chapter to finish this off. :))


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thanks to WaywardLass for the support and encouragement to write Geralt and Yen together - I loved doing it, and I have more plans for these two! And a big thanks to everyone for reading and leaving kind comments, it means a lot! Hope you enjoy this final chapter, and let me know what you think. :)

They did not gaze at the stars that night. In fact, Geralt could not even say if the sky had been clear or overcast, but faced with the same choice of nightly activities, he would never pick astronomy. The hole in the roof he had insisted on keeping had a purpose to serve after all, letting the slanting rays of sun inside the hut, and onto the Witcher's face. He drew a deep breath without opening his eyes, and having taken stock of his immediate surroundings using his other senses, decided in favour of keeping them shut a little longer. He wrapped his arms tighter around Yennefer's warm, pliant body pressed against his, and smiled at the tickle of her even breath on his skin. She slept soundly as he pulled her even closer and nuzzled at the silky locks at the back of her head. 

His sleep only lasted a couple of hours, but he had not felt so rested and refreshed in a long time. And he had not felt happy in much longer. This was not perfect, he knew: they were only enjoying the stolen moments before the battle, multiple battles likely, before they found Ciri and made sure she was safe and sound. But these mere hours in a half-broken house on the shore were already the respite that would fuel the rest of their endeavours. Geralt briefly considered joining Yen in her peaceful slumber for a while more, but gave in to his imagination, which pictured other exciting opportunities. He chuckled and opened his eyes. A multitude of floating motes made the light pouring through the hole in the roof shimmer as it crawled up along Yennefer's bare leg thrown over the furs they were covered with.

The Witcher carefully disentangled himself from her body and watched. She let out a low grumble, turned on the other side, pulling the covers up and hooking her leg over them, but did not wake. Geralt grinned at the captivating sight of her thigh and bottom left uncovered by the motion. He inched lower on the mattress and lay on his side so his head was near Yennefer's legs, stilling himself, hardly breathing. Left undisturbed for a few minutes but for a lick of sunshine on her skin, the sorceress slept on. Satisfied, Geralt tugged at one of the pelts covering her and pulled it to the side. He left the one her leg was wrapped around untouched, and smirked as she only slightly adjusted her position by bending the leg on top and stretching the one under it. This was even better than he hoped, for without his inference, her own movement left her bewitchingly exposed: the small tuft of soft dark curls he longed to touch, and her folds he yearned to open, even after doing it again and again last night. He could never have enough of her.

His palm rolled over the gentle swell of her buttocks, barely touching her skin. He slid the back of his hand down between her legs, softly, slowly, dragging the tips of his fingers across her core, making her quiver. He settled just below, and ran his hands along her bent leg, moving it further up, opening her to him completely. Yennefer only stirred and sighed in her sleep. His lips pressed one kiss after another to her inner thigh, and his fingers ghosted over her folds and her clit, coaxing a stifled moan from her lips. His fingers worrying her already sensitive bud quickly had to her arching her back, allowing for better access. She still showed no sign that she was awake. Even if she was pretending to be asleep, Geralt felt grateful. For this time, for this pleasure, for this intimacy, even for all this being too short - they had not managed to get into a fight yet. He gave a low chuckle; they never fought about sex at least. He lay in a fairly comfortable pose, resting his head on her lower leg. As he licked his quickly drying lips and hungrily closed his mouth over her clit, his finger slipped inside her with ease, and Yen stirred in earnest. She let out a slow moan, trying to buck her hips, but he held her down.

Geralt took his time lapping at her - it was as much his pleasure as hers, adding another finger inside her slit, curling, pressing at just the right spot. He had her gasping for air, dragging long, loud, hoarse moans from her throat, screaming his name as she shook, riding the waves of release one after the other, before he allowed Yennefer to roll on her back. He sat on his heels, and let their eyes meet as he stroked his erection which had become insistent. He grinned as she looked at him between the fingers of her hand splayed over her flushed face, her mouth slightly open, her chest heaving with heavy breaths. He loved her best this way. Not the polished look she herself preferred, but this - everything in disarray, her eyebrows not quite symmetrical without makeup, her hair wet on her temples and tousled - she was perfect this way, in her imperfection.

"Good morning, Witcher," she bit on her finger as she slid it past her mouth, one corner of it stretching in a wicked grin. He smirked back. They did not leave the bed for another hour. And when they did, it was for one reason only.

"Yen?" as he uttered the word, her head bounced up a bit on his stomach.

"Hm?" she prompted. Otherwise, she did not move, comfortable using his abdomen for a pillow. He sat up, causing her head to bob lower as she grumbled an irritated ouch.

"I'm starving," he explained with a laugh and jumped out of bed, pulling his trousers and shirt on.

"Do you need clothes for that? Why don't you just bring us something here?" she pouted, lazy, seductive.

"No way," he shook his head. "We're going out." He suspected he had a feverish glimmer in his eyes as she looked at him in disbelief. He knew they only had little time, and he was bent on using it to the full. There were so many things he wanted to do with her, and, surprisingly perhaps, many did not include them having sex. She made no move yet, only eyeing him, apparently intent on changing his mind.

"Out where?"

"We're having a picnic," he grinned boyishly, bringing his face almost too close to hers to see clearly. Her violet eyes rounded as she gave him a look that said that he had positively gone mad: they, Geralt of Rivia the Witcher and Yennefer of Vengerberg the sorceress, did not have picnics. "Come on, get dressed, I'll gather some food from those barrels." He went for the door, but as she remained still, he turned on his heels, neared her again and crouched in front of the woman.

"Come on, Yen," he gave her a long, sweet kiss, and finished off with a slap of his palm on her naked ass. He did not turn to look, but he heard her mumble curses and get up as he closed the door behind him. 

Predictably, it took Yennefer time to get ready. It took so long in fact, that Geralt refused to listen to his stomach growling any more as he sat on the beach waiting, and tucked into some dried fish. He was battling with a particularly chewy bit stuck between his teeth when Yen appeared, properly combed and made-up, wearing her yesterday's alluring outfit. Which was utterly unsuitable for the hike they were about to take. 

"You sure you want to go up in these?" he pointed first at the winding path that disappeared between the rocks up the hill, and then at her high-heeled boots.

"I'm perfectly able to go anywhere in these," she answered with a derisive smirk, without even throwing a look at the path. As they started the steep climb though, she slipped and stumbled with her skirt flying up and obstructing her view, and kept getting her heels stuck between the ragged rocks and gnarled upturned tree roots. She cursed, and used magic, which was more effective, but did little for the mood. It was not the way to enjoy their precious time together. Geralt stopped her with a firm hand on her arm.

"Yen," she puffed but finally looked in his eyes. "This is ridiculous, and you know it. You need to change."

"Into what? You know perfectly well I did not exactly bring my chests full of clothes here. So it's either this, or nothing but a more comfortable illusion." She sounded angry at him now, and he chuckled: it did not take long for them to start fighting after all. He stood quiet however, his arms crossed, waiting for her to arrive at a solution. She huffed at his silence and threw her locks back, before resting her fists on her hips. "Or, I could use a portal to get to the inn in Kaer Trolde Harbour and change into something more appropriate." He shook his head. "Look, I know you hate portals, but you don't need to accompany me into this one. I'll be quick." He closed the small distance between them and cupped her face, forcing her to look up.

"It's not because I don't want to go. I don't want you to leave, even for a little while." Her eyebrows shot up and she quickly looked down and sighed. When she faced him again, her features were soft and gentle. She pressed her palms to his chest and stood on her toes to kiss him. 

"What do we do then? Do you want me roaming the forests naked?" she arched a single eyebrow daringly.

"I would not say no to that," his low voice rumbled with a smile, "but you know I'd prefer you to have some clothes on so I could take them off myself. Slowly." He traced her jawline. "After we've eaten," he added with a laugh, earning an immediate poke in the ribs. "There's another option back at the hut. Outside, on the line." As understanding dawned on Yennefer, she shook her head.

"No way. I'm not wearing some old rags that have been hanging out there for who knows how long," she separated from him and crossed her arms defiantly.

"You know for how long," he smiled tentatively, "you put them there yourself. And if I know you even a little bit, those clothes did not come from a dump, and are no rags by any standards." He continued grinning at her string of scoffs. "I bet you'd look amazing in..." he ran a quick mental check of the Skellige clans, "say, clan Drummond outfit?" He smirked, satisfied at remembering whose traditional clothes had dark violet as their predominant colour. She grunted disgustedly in response, and his face fell.

"What did I say wrong now?" Geralt lifted his out turned palms. Now, that was a risky question to ask Yen, because depending on her mood, she might just decide to give him a near complete list of all the things he had ever said wrong. He had a vague suspicion it was a long list. Luckily, she was not in one of those moods now. She put her hand on his chest. 

"Sorry, it's not you. You just reminded me of the unpleasant encounter I've had with the head of the said clan." She realised Geralt's raised brow was a demand for more information, so she continued. "Madman Lugos is not only mad, obviously, but exceptionally rude. He insisted on calling me a cauldron-stirring witch on the occasion."

"Well I'll just have to teach him some courtesy then," he switched his weight from one foot to the other, arms crossed, brows furrowed, ready to punch the man right there and then. Yennefer smiled and shook her head.

"No, Geralt, it's nothing, it's..." He could see she was having an internal argument with herself, and gave her time. Finally, she looked up, lips stretched in a wicked lopsided grin. "In fact, I'd love to see that."

"Consider it done," he promised, and claimed a kiss as a reward for future chivalrousness.

"All right," the sorceress inhaled deep to compensate for lost breath, "I'm going back to the hut," she paused emphatically, "to change." Geralt could not believe he had managed to convince her, and was certain he grinned like an idiot when he started back down the path.

"No, I'm going alone. Oh, come on, you know it'll take time, and we both know your patience will run out before I'm ready," she added in response to his fallen expression. "You go on, pick a nice spot. I'll find you," she promised with a flash of a smile. He had no doubt she would, the extent of her magical abilities was still a mystery even to him, but that she had done before.

As he continued up the stony path, carrying the crab pot he had taken from the house, an awareness came over him that he was smiling. It was still not perfect, Yen needed to be there by his side to enjoy the sight of a timid doe darting through the brush at his approach, to take in the enormity of the sea underneath as he stood atop a rock, to appreciate the wild beauty of the fragrant pine trees gnarled and twisted by the strong winds. But it was very near perfect, because she would soon join him here.

At the top, the path branched into several trails that ran deep into the surrounding forest. He opted for the one to his left, which seemed to go higher up still. He aimed for a site that would encompass the gorgeous views of both the woods and the sea, and he found it, but the spot had already been taken. The climb led him to a siren nest sitting at an ideal location: part shadowed by the tall conifers, part soaking up the sun, and overlooking the sea from three sides.

"Damn monsters have a good taste for property," he grumbled, setting the wicker crab pot full of their picnic supplies at a safe distance under a tree. He could already hear the air filling with shrieks as his approach had alerted the sirens. His swords and crossbow were sitting on his back, as always, but he had obviously not thought to bring any bombs when he had left with Yen. _Will take some extra sweat to destroy the nest._

The Witcher's silver blade was out in a flash. He flicked his right wrist to spin the sword full circle for a quick warm up, his left hand poised to throw off the first approaching siren with a Sign. A well-timed Aard pinned the creature to the ground, stunned and helpless for an instant, but it was enough for the silver to pierce through it. Sirens always died with an ugly shriek that grated on Geralt's nerves and called for other sirens' revenge. And they came in numbers.

All available means went into avoiding getting surrounded: from swooshing his sword at the sirens in wide arcs and immediately pirouetting away, to shaking them off with Aard and setting them afire with Igni, and even good old kicking with the heel of his boot. The monsters' screeches split the air, and the ground around him was filling with bodies, which, resembling beautiful maidens from afar, up close revealed their ugly fish-like maws and sharp talons. It was not his most demanding fight by far, but with his stamina somewhat depleted, it was taking its toll nonetheless. Starting to tire, he missed a few blows that resulted in bloody scratch marks along his arm left by an ekhidna. All the sirens dealt with, he now faced only a few of their larger and hardier cousins.

An unexpected ball of fire brought one of the ekhidnas down, ready for Geralt's blade to finish it. He did not think about where the fire came from, he used the opportunity. He aimed an Aard at the two remaining monsters, airborne, but with successful evasion they were only brought slightly lower, not all the way to the ground. He heard the hissing behind him, and risked a look. Yennefer was forming a ball of lightning between her palms, purple sparks spitting out of it furiously. She gave him a feral grin and threw the ball in the air towards the ekhidnas. Between them, it split and branched into two bolts, each scorching a beast in a flash.

Geralt wiped his blade on the grass, sheathed it, approached Yennefer, gave her a kiss - ravenous, long, breathtaking; smiled and, without a word, walked away from her drawing his sword again. He picked up on the subtle sounds that allowed him to reconstruct the image: Yen balling her fists, tucking them on her hips, pushing one hip out to the side, and finally, her brow arching, her eyes sparkling.

"Are you saying you haven't had enough of fighting yet?" she challenged a tad haughtily. He grinned to himself. That trait of hers had not changed: she disliked having to share his attention.

"Only need to destroy the nest itself, and the job's done. And then," he gave her a smile that had young maidens blush and their knees buckle, "I'm all yours." Yen was by no way a maiden, but the smile and the look and the lowered pitch of his voice had done the trick. She stepped towards him.

Without any bombs, it was all he could do to hack at the nest and set it on fire.

"Want a hand?" Yen asked as they both looked at the stubborn remains, and he nodded. Another lightning ball, a smaller one this time, fizzled into existence on the sorceress' palm.

"We'd better step back," she advised, before hurling it straight onto the nearly destroyed nest. It left a clean circle of mildly scorched ground, barely any other traces remaining. Geralt neared the spot nonetheless, and checked it for any valuables, scratching the tip of his boot around it out of habit. To his surprise, he found some shells, covered in soot and deformed. When he cracked them open with his knife, he discovered one black and two white pearls.

"I have something for you. Though in all fairness, this is as much your loot as mine," He handed them to Yennefer with a grin. "Great team work. We should do it again some time." She rolled the pearls in her palm, but at his last jest her smile faded.

"I'm afraid we'll have ample opportunity to fight together. Might be more than we would like." He knew she was right. Finding Ciri had not been easy so far and there was no reason it would not get harder. But that was not something he wanted to think about now. Not something he wanted Yen to think about now. He drew her in a tight embrace, followed by a sweet, almost innocent kiss, and held her at arm length.

"You look lovely." She must have seen the sincerity in his eyes, because instead of fighting him about it, she thanked him. She had a simple loose tunic on, only decorated with some embroidery at the neck, and wide men's trousers the locals wore, which were trimmed to fit her slim figure. Geralt was grateful she had opted out of her corset and only wore a belt around her waist. "You've done an amazing job with all this. Have you learnt to sew in the past two years?" He allowed himself a smirk and received a familiar scoff in response.

"Don't be ridiculous, Geralt. I enchanted a needle."

"You had a needle?" His chuckle threatened to turn into a full-blown laughter.

"I conjured one up," she said slowly, punctuating each word as if speaking to an idiot, squinting her eyes at him, aware of his intentional jeering. He decided to stop testing her limits there, and spread his arms wide to show her the view.

"This is a superb place for a picnic!" he announced, and shoved a dead siren off the cliff with his foot without breaking his grin. Yen burst out laughing.

"Removing dead bodies from the romantic dinner spot is so... bloody romantic." It was not her typical curse, and the faltering intonation with which she said it made him want to squeeze her in an embrace and never let her go.

She joined him in hauling and pushing the dead monsters off, clearing up the truly perfect spot. When he finally sat on the grass, taking in the enchanting view, she walked back a few paces, picked something from under a tree and returned with a couple of plaids.

"Don't count on me becoming a practical person," she warned with a shrug as he beamed at her, "I just stumbled upon them as I was leaving the house," she made an excuse for being nice, and he pretended to believe her.

"Is this... a lobster trap, or something?" her look said she knew he was crazy all right, but still wondered what this was all about, as he set the round wicker trap upside down between them.

"A crab pot," he confirmed, and opened the lid with a victorious air about him. "There were no baskets," he shrugged. The trap was filled to the top with all the food Geralt could find in the barrels and crates around the house, while the hole in the middle, meant for a crab to crawl through, was blocked with a fat wine bottle. He invited Yen to partake of their feast with an exaggerated courtly gesture, and she shook her head, laughed, and kissed him before gracefully picking a piece of smoked fish.

The hours atop the cliff went by in quiet contemplation. They watched the sea to the accompaniment of the sound which could equally be the waves rolling over the empty beach below, and the wind brushing the treetops and rustling the leaves in the forest behind them. There was so much to discuss, both their past and the future, that they avoided it. They spoke of mundane things, and then they did not speak at all, when the calm gave way to the rush of blood and desire took hold of them again.

They took a different path back down and ended up on another beach, a smaller one, even more secluded. Yennefer tugged at Geralt's hand and led him to a rock at the water edge. She clung to him as he sat, resting her head on his shoulder, her locks brushing his neck. They took in the beauty of the place in silence, but this time they were not simply sated and relaxed: both knew their time together could not last. Not yet, not now.

Geralt's gaze wandered from the rocks painted green by hornwort and red by the aptly named bloodmoss, to the outlines of mountains away at sea, on other Skellige isles. He felt Yen stir briefly, as if with a spasm, and pressed his hand firmer on her shoulder, nuzzling at the back of her head. She turned to cup his cheek and meet his gaze. Bright specs of silver in their violet depths made her eyes glimmer. He kissed the tips of her fingers and gave a happy, unrestricted smile.

"Ciri's always coaxed the most smiles out of you," she smiled back, sad, worried. He squeezed her in his arms, tightly, tenderly, to soothe her shivering.

"We'll find her. I promise." She nodded and let out a rugged breath, calming down in his embrace, as he kept stroking her hair. Finally, she broke the silence.

"Geralt? You know we can't stay a week, right?" she leaned into the caress and sighed.

"Mhm," he nodded. "We can't even stay another day." She wrapped her slender arms around him and squeezed tighter.

"Can we stay another hour?" she mumbled.

"Yes," he answered, rubbing circles on her back. As his eyes roamed over the surroundings, he noticed something.

"Yen? Can we take a boat back?" Her face pressed into his chest, she gave a muffled whimper, but faced him with a bright laughter. 

"Yes."


End file.
